


Fugitive

by JeanGraham



Category: Blake's 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanGraham/pseuds/JeanGraham
Summary: A young stranger may expose Kel Shevran's past as Kerr Avon.





	Fugitive

**Fugitive**

* * *

  
by Jean Graham   


"How much do you want?"

It seemed a fair-enough question. At sixty, Kel Shevran had   
settled into wealth's comforts thoroughly enough to have forgotten   
his life as Kerr Avon. That former identity, long-buried, now   
existed only in the Federation's security files as one "criminal   
revolutionary, dead at Gauda Prime."

Dead, at least, until a ghost he could never have anticipated   
had walked through his office door.

Vila, or Soolin, even Blake himself might have been easier to   
face. But this stranger wore a face he had last seen thirty years   
ago -- in a mirror.

"Is that why you think I came here?" the ghost demanded in a   
voice that was also Shevran's own.

"What other reason?" Shevran couldn't help staring, and the   
younger man stared back, dark eyes both accusing and hungry.

"Curiosity, perhaps," he said.

"All knowledge is valuable?"

"Yes."

Shevran broke the gaze-lock, striding away into the expansive   
hemisphere of the plex dome forming the outer 'wall' of the office.

One quarter of Ferus III's cloud-stippled surface invaded the   
dome's starview, swollen purple seas threatening to swallow her   
meager continents. In less than an hour, the revolution of Trans-   
Shevran Corporation's orbiter would take Ferus past the President's   
window and leave only the empty stars to view.

He preferred the stars.

Shevran reached out to touch the curved transparency, smoothly   
chill against his splayed fingers. A bearded man with iron grey   
hair gazed back at him, eyes glittering.

"Anna..." he said, not quite able to make it a question.

Beyond the imposing semi-circle of Kel Shevran's ebony desk,   
the dark version of himself, back stiff, answered in a voice devoid   
of inflection. "That was one of her names, or so they tell me. I   
never knew her."

For a protracted moment, they regarded one another's   
reflections. Then the cold young voice said, "You didn't know."   
Not a question.

Silent warnings began gnawing at Shevran's psyche, presenting   
the arcane improbabilities that this youthful avatar might be a   
clone, an android, a manufactured myth designed to trap him. He   
turned slowly to face the spectre and said crisply, "I still   
don't."

"The DNA pattern match is on record, if you care to check."

Perhaps he would. Later. For the moment, there were other   
concerns.

"How did you come here?" The question he'd meant to ask was   
'How did you find me?' The trail should have been impossible to   
trace, for any but a mind equal to his own...

"You were not easy to find," his visitor replied, taking the   
meaning despite Shevran's ambiguity. "There were... irregularities   
in the records that established something of a pattern, provided   
you knew what to look for. It has taken me eighteen years, all   
told. But I've succeeded."

There was such arrogant pride in the statement that Shevran   
found himself responding with a sneer. "I admire your fortitude.   
And I'll repeat the question. How much do you want?" When the   
newcomer merely glowered, Shevran paced back to the massive desk to   
place both hands on the glassine surface. He had only to move a   
finger, touch the hidden keypad, and the internal defense system he   
had long ago programmed into the desk unit would dispose of his   
visitor -- neatly and without trace. One finger, and the threat   
would be no more. But his finger refused to move.

_Sentimentality breeds weakness. Let it get hold of you, and_   
_you are dead..._

Curiosity, perhaps, was an even greater weakness.

"Oh come now," he prodded. "Surely you're not going to tell   
me you went to all this trouble merely for the sake of maudlin   
familial ties?"

"Oh, no." The ghost smiled, a soulless expression completely   
aloof from his eyes, and from somewhere his right hand had suddenly   
acquired the sleek black shape of a hand weapon. "I came," he   
said, "for this."

Whatever dramatic reaction the younger man had expected, he   
was clearly disappointed when Shevran's carefully schooled features   
showed only boredom -- and a faint hint of weariness. He sat down,   
fixing the visitor with an expectant gaze.

"Is that all?"

"It's enough."

Shevran's answering smile could have rivaled Ferus' ice rings.   
"Oh, it is never enough," he whispered. His slender fingers calmly   
interlaced themselves, retreating from the desktop to his lap.   
"Not, at least, without some wearisome justification or other.   
Surely you came prepared with one?"

The gun sank a few inches beneath unmasked surprise, covered   
quickly by indignation. "I have a lifetime's worth of reasons," he   
breathed. "From the creche on. Federation schools that expected   
your supposed genius to be mine. Your legendary talents, your   
'abilities' -- and oh yes, your infamous inclinations toward   
larceny and rebellion. They watched me every minute of every day,   
waiting for that. Waiting for all of it."

Shevran merely watched him, allowing none of his own   
apprehensions to show. If this was indeed a trap, then it had been   
masterfully designed: not even Servalan could likely have devised   
something this Machiavellian.

"The great Kerr Avon..." The name became a sneer. "You   
hardly look dangerous now."

Shevran's fingers parted and re-laced. "Kerr Avon," he said,   
"died on Gauda Prime -- twenty-five years ago."

"I never believed that. All my life I've wanted to find you."   
The gun hand stiffened. "And kill you."

Shevran remained blase while his visitor seethed, wondering if   
he had in fact been this volatile once. An eternity ago, perhaps.   
"If," he said in level tones, "your keepers have followed you here,   
then you will have killed us both."

The face of his youth wore a look of mock sympathy. "I'm   
touched by your concern."

"So you should be." Shevran's chair swiveled left, toward   
the dome and the glowing nimbus of Ferus's stratosphere. "Emons,"   
he said to a seamless juncture in the ceiling. "You may come in,   
now."

He swung back to find rage overtaking his would-be assassin.   
Black eyes flared. The gun thrust forward, index finger pressing   
the firing stud without hesitation.

Nothing happened.

Shevran's voice held all the emotion of a vocoded synth   
program. "You don't really think I've lived this long by being   
careless? Your weapon was deactivated the moment you entered this   
complex."

Anger overcoming reason, the younger man took a threatening   
step forward, and raised the gun as though to strike.

Shevran never moved. Before his attacker could reach the   
desk's edge, blue vapor jetted from a recess in its black-mirrored   
surface, and Kerr Avon watched his own face of long ago contort in   
pain and infuriated shock.

Then the assassin lay unconscious on the floor, and the door   
of the expansive office was sliding open to admit Emons, her   
angular features prim and completely uninvolved.

Shevran came slowly to his feet, striding even more slowly   
around the huge desk. "You heard all of that?" he queried.

"Yes sir."

The man once known as Kerr Avon glanced over his shoulder at   
the ceiling pickup. "In that case," he drawled, "I suggest that   
you heard nothing at all."

Emons didn't even blink. "Heard nothing at all of what, sir?"   
Never one for sentimental displays, was Emons. No wonder she kept   
her job.

"Was he followed here?"

She shook her head just once. "But they'll pick him up again,   
once he's back within Federation space. If you'd prefer that we   
'dispense' with the problem entirely--"

"No." The refusal came faster than he might have imagined   
possible. Unlike him, to start developing a conscience at this   
late date. "No," he said again more firmly. "The transport to   
Denilon, I think."

For the first time in years, Emons' flint facade developed a   
crack. "But sir..." She stifled the protest at once, as though in   
shock to realize that it had escaped at all.

Eyes hooded, Shevran regarded the supine figure at his feet.   
Now that he could study the young face more closely, there were   
visible differences; not quite a true mirror of the face he   
remembered. He found that encouraging. Neither a clone nor an   
android would likely have been less than a perfect replica. Then   
again...

He knelt, and placed three fingers to the assassin's neck,   
finding a definite pulse. Not an android, then. And not identical   
enough for a clone. Therefore...

He didn't like the direction in which the line of reasoning   
led him. Somehow it made the decision he must now reach far more   
difficult. Ludicrous, on the surface of it -- this man was a   
complete stranger, a failed assassin, a probable spy...

Shevran straightened with a scowl to meet Emons' baffled gaze.   
"See that he's fitted with the appropriate credentials, including   
a 'suitably impressive' family history, well-seated in the   
Federation data net." He overran her objection with another   
command. "Put him on the next shuttle to Ferus and keep him   
isolated until that transport makes planetfall."

He found it suddenly impossible to stare down at that   
incredibly young face any longer, and turned away to stride toward   
the door.

But he could not escape just yet. There was one last onus he   
must place on Emons' shoulders. One he hated.

He faced the door, and would not look at her. "You will   
also," he said, "see to it that he remembers none of this."

Her "Yes sir" was all but lost in the rumble of the door as he   
hurried out.

Kerr Avon was many corridors away before he realized a small,   
but nagging regret.

He had never even known the young man's name.

\-- End --

See all of my fanfic and links to my pro fiction at <http://jeangraham.20m.com.>


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